Prelude to a Curtain Call

 

She is center stage and bows

Beneath her a runnel flows

Gentian and milkweed trace

Brawny banks with brittle lace

Applause dies like broken glass

…lies in shambles on the grass

High above, the thirsty sky

Drinks a noon-day lullaby

Ranks of rustling infantry

Guard the slowly-setting tree

Pantomime of polished air

Climbs a lily-dusted stair

Shepherd of ten-thousand flocks

She is weary of wound clocks

Thus she sets at ease her staff

Where a sea of summers laugh

Once the bloom of youth was sweet

Now she rests to rub her feet

Tempests toss time’s one-way path

Everything is aftermath

To what was before; the bloom

Soon adorns its very tomb

Prelude to a curtain call

Is each life; the leaf must fall

© Janet Martin

I traded in my mop and broom for a bike-ride this afternoon; it was a toss-up of exhilaration and endurance! (exhilaration, everything around me; endurance, everything beneath me)

The muddiest stretches I have no pictures of because it took sheer concentration to stay afloat. The quiet,dirt road I like to bike on was churned to a mud path due to large trucks (after rain), hauling in heavy culverts to replace old ones. This project resulted in a detour through a grass field; turning around is not an option on a beautiful, might-be-the-last-bike-ride-of-the-season-day!!

after Bike and I had a bath we both feel better:)